


The Five Times Percy Didn’t Ask Oliver Out And The One Time He Did

by adavison



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 5+1 Things, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Former Quidditch Player Oliver Wood, M/M, Ministry Worker Percy Weasley, Percy's POV, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27792358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adavison/pseuds/adavison
Summary: It's been almost six years since the Battle of Hogwarts; six years since he last saw Oliver Wood. When Oliver starts working for the Ministry, Percy keeps running into his former best friend, the man who he's had a crush on for years. He's ready to finally express his feelings, but will everything synch up enough for him to have the opportunity?
Relationships: Percy Weasley/Oliver Wood
Comments: 95
Kudos: 125
Collections: Pen15 is Mightier Prompt Exchange 2020





	1. Tuesday, 6 April 2004

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Pen15isMightierPromptExchange2020) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Sometimes things just sync up.
> 
> Maybe it's a necklace that gives an echo of a past life, or a house that you walk into for the first time but already know where they keep their mugs. Perhaps it's a face you saw in a dream then see again on the Tube, or a phone number that keeps popping up around you ... then in your missed calls. 
> 
> My OTP is Percy/Oliver but I'd be happy with Percy/anyone (no cross-gen please). I would also be delighted with Cedric, Cho, Penelope Clearwater, Oliver Wood, paired with pretty much anyone. If you'd like to branch out, I'd also be happy with Frozen, any Disney princess, Miraculous, Doctor Who, or MCU. Make it an OTP or an OT3 - or, heck, the more the merrier!
> 
> I'd like to give a big thank you to [meditationsinemergencies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meditationsinemergencies/profile) for the wonderful Alpha work.
> 
> Disclaimer: All characters belong to JKR and associated publishers. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. The comments and opinions expressed by the original creator do not reflect the views of the author of this transformative work.

He was running behind. 

Not late. Percy was never late. Perfectly Punctual Percy. That’s what George had called him the other day. The jab no longer stung as it had in the past. Maybe it was because he had fully embraced himself. Maybe it was because he had finally started accepting the good-natured ribbing he received from his siblings as just that, good-natured. 

Either way, he was behind schedule.

The little coffee shop inside the Ministry was already running at full capacity. The three baristas behind the counter weren’t quite at the frazzled level they reached during the regular morning rush. It was much too early for that. But they were busy, whipping up lattes and espressos for the pre-dawn crowd. 

The low hum of conversation and the hissing of the coffee machines rolled together into an ambient noise that wasn’t altogether unpleasant. However, the neglected stack of files on his desk was calling his name, as was the document he studied while waiting for his somewhat decent double shot of espresso. 

A lot had happened in the Department of Magical Transportation during his annual holiday—Rowle and a few other members of the Wizengamot were attempting to push through yet another bill to declassify carpets as Muggle Artefacts from the Registry of Proscribed Charmable Objects. The Registry was antiquated and had less than subtle racist undertones. It was long past time for a review. He suspected that Rowle was not making this proposal out of a sense of justice but had rather received some funding from a flying carpet merchant, but that wasn’t important. He made a mental note to review the embargo and speak to someone in legal. 

Tucking the file away into his briefcase, Percy checked his pocket watch. Six minutes after six. If he had a chance of taking any semblance of a lunch break that day, he needed his coffee soon.

As if reading his mind, the spotty barista called out his double espresso. He strode through the small throng of people gathered near the counter and reached for his cup, only to be met with warm calloused fingers.

Percy knew those hands. He didn’t have to look up to know that he was standing next to Oliver Wood. A man he had not seen since the end of the war. 

The breath caught in Percy’s lungs as he remembered the last time he encountered those hands. Hesitant and unsure if they would be welcome, Oliver’s hands slipped into his and squeezed tentatively before letting go, hastily shoving a letter at him. By the time Percy registered what had happened Oliver was gone. There were multiple funerals that day. It was perfectly reasonable to assume that the man needed to attend one of the many others, but Percy couldn’t shake the feeling that Oliver had fled for an entirely different reason.

Glancing up into the face of the man who had once been his best friend, Percy was relieved to see a small smile playing across Oliver’s roguish features. Gone was the lanky boy he had grown up with, shared a dorm room with. Even after graduation and his signing to Puddlemere United, Oliver had retained his youthful physique. But now, nearing thirty, the man had filled out. Toned forearms lead to broad shoulders that would have strained the seams of any shirt not tailored to fit. A dark, neatly trimmed beard accentuated his strong jaw and somehow made the already affable man even more approachable. 

And those eyes… Percy knew that he would be in danger of falling into those eyes if he allowed himself to look for too long. Those eyes—the colour of a freshly pulled espresso after skimming off the crema—brought back memories of late-night study sessions, two-man Quidditch games under the hot summer sun, nights by the common room fire, hot cocoa and then later coffee prepared just how he liked it, the night before graduation allowing himself to cut loose—maybe a little too loose, the press of slightly chapped lips on— 

_No_. 

He couldn’t think about that. Now was definitely not the time.

Percy blinked as a chuckle escaped Olivers _still_ rough lips. Merlin, the man needed to start using chapstick. 

“Sorry, Perce,” the man drawled in his Glaswegian accent. “Thought it was mine.” 

Although the beard hid most of it, Percy was sure that he saw a faint tinge of pink on the man’s cheeks. 

The barista nearly shoved another takeaway cup into Oliver’s hands. “Y-your coffee, Mr Wood,” the man squeaked, clearly in awe of seeing Puddlemere’s former Keeper.

Oliver flashed the kid—honestly, the barista couldn’t have been a day over eighteen—one of his signature smiles before turning back to Percy and ushering him over to the bistro table and pouring an ungodly amount of powdered creamer into his coffee. 

Unable to stop the small huff of laughter that escaped his lips, Percy focused on skimming the crema and stirring his drink to properly blend the flavours. “Still taking a little coffee with your cream?”

The smirk that pulled at Oliver’s mouth and lit up those espresso eyes made something stir deep in Percy’s chest. Before he could stop it, a warmth that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years began to bloom. 

He should have stopped it. 

Percy hadn’t seen the man in years. He was busy, so, so busy as Deputy Head of the department. He didn’t have time to examine why, with Oliver, it felt as though no time had passed at all. How comfortably they slotted back together, like pieces of a puzzle. 

He needed it to stop.

“What are you doing here?” he asked instead.

Oliver took a swig of his coffee and flinched nearly imperceptibly, the only indication that he had just scalded the roof of his mouth with the hot beverage like he always did—the man was always so impatient. “Started at Games and Sports last week.”

Although Oliver smiled, Percy could feel his friend’s unease. Oliver wasn’t made to sit behind a desk. The man lived his life on the pitch. During their years at Hogwarts, Percy often had to drag him back into the castle just so he could rest. If left unchecked, Oliver would have lived in the broom shed and spent every available hour training. 

This latest Quidditch injury had been devastating. Oliver could have very easily died. He had pulled through, but he would never be able to play professionally again. 

Percy had been listening to that final game on the wireless. Had heard the loud crack of Oliver’s broom as it snapped in two. Had to stop himself from apparating to the game to make sure Oliver was okay. There had been so many times that he almost went to St Mungo’s just to get a glimpse of the man, but he reasoned that he would not be welcome. Oliver had many people in his life: friends, family, loyal fans, a boyfriend—although, he quickly left after hearing the words ‘will never play again’. Oliver had no need for Percy. 

In the months since being released from the hospital, Oliver had been active in the youth leagues and it was widely speculated that he would be signed as a coach within the year. But now, here he was, working for the Ministry. Percy wasn’t sure why, but he knew that he didn’t want to lose the opportunity to reconnect with his best friend. 

“I didn’t realize that department came in this early,” Percy said, fiddling with his glasses. “Or are you still first in, last out?”

Oliver chuckled. “I could ask the same of you.”

The warmth in his chest grew at the sound, but he did his best to ignore it. “I’m normally here by seven, but I was on holiday last week—”

“Fred and George’s birthday. The first of April, right?” Oliver cut in.

Percy nodded. How had Oliver remembered? “Ever since… It’s a hard week for the family. I try to be available.” 

He wanted to say more. He wanted to sit in the grass, as they used to as children, and let the freedom of the open air, the warm sun, and the slightly prickly grass slowly draw out the truths they were unable to put into words anywhere else. 

Percy wanted to tell Oliver about the hours he spent at the joke shop helping George test new products, time in his father’s shed tinkering with Muggle electronics, finally learning to cook with his mother. Days atoning for the years of absence before the final battle. Days trying to bury the guilt of survival. Days of trying to convince himself that they would have reacted the same if he had been the one to perish instead. Even now, six years later, even though most of the tears and dark depression had left his family, he still thought that his death would have been much easier for them to bear. 

And maybe one day he would be able to share the scars that were written upon his heart. But the ministry coffee shop was not the place. And they were no longer as close as they once were. But maybe, they could be again.

Percy blinked to bring himself back to the present. Oliver still had a smile on his face, but his eyes had softened from their typical joy to something more… Percy couldn’t or didn’t want to put his finger on. 

Oliver must have sensed his uncertainty and changed the subject. “I meant to send an owl to thank you last month, but with physio and everything… Anyway, thank you for the succulents.”

Percy blushed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. “You were in hospital. Of course I sent something. You’re not a fan of chocolates and you’re allergic to flowers. So… succulents.”

Oliver just stared at him, continuing to look at him in that way… compassionate? _No, that’s not the right word._ Percy wasn’t used to not having the right words. It was frustrating and he knew that the unfulfilled thought would gnaw at him for the rest of the day, if not the week. And unfortunately, he was well aware that this word will not come to him late at night. 

Knowing? Maybe. Oliver had always been able to assess and break down his walls so much faster than anyone else. A tingle ran down his spine and Percy knew, he just knew that Percy had immediately sussed out the depth of his feelings. Even if Percy doesn’t quite know them yet himself.

“You remembered that I like Jade plants,” Oliver almost whispered, hiding the quirk of his lips behind his coffee cup.

It would have been so easy for Percy to have reached out, physically and emotionally. It would have been so easy for him to smile back and invite Oliver to lunch, or tea in one of the break rooms, or an afternoon fly, or hell, even a pint down at the pub, but each of those options felt so far out of the realm of possibilities that he couldn’t bring himself to try. 

Percy wasn’t one to take a risk without calculating all of the possible outcomes—possibly a reason why he shouldn’t have been a Gryffindor—and his mind flashed back to that period after school. The morning after the graduation party and all the mornings after. Clearly, Oliver had not wanted him then, why on earth would Oliver want him now?

With a tightening of his shoulders, Percy finished the rest of his espresso and vanished the paper cup. He needed to get out of there. Away from the noises of the coffee shop that had suddenly grown louder. Away from Oliver’s kind eyes. Away from temptation. Away from potential heartbreak yet again. 

Percy stood and straightened his robes and cast a glance at his pocket watch. “I’ve an early meeting that I must prepare for,” he blurted out, hoping he sounded believable. “It was good to run into you Oliver.”

Before the man could respond, Percy nodded curtly and rushed off to the lifts to hopefully bury himself in paperwork and forget those beautiful espresso coloured eyes.


	2. Wednesday, 26 May 2004

Percy hated the Ministry canteen. It was loud. It was inevitable that he would be stopped by multiple people trying to weasel their way into his schedule without going through his secretary. And he could have purchased better food from a Muggle street vendor. Unfortunately, Percy’s secretary was away on maternity leave and the department had decided that he would share an assistant with the Portkey office. Gerald was excellent at his job, but it was only day six and the kinks still needed to be worked out. Like today, when Gerald had been pulled into a meeting at nine that morning that had yet to let out. Thus, Percy was on his own to figure out lunch. 

As a rule, Percy always brought his lunch or had his secretary send out for something. However, that morning had been a complete clusterfuck of early morning meetings, arranging the Obliviation of an entire village of Muggles after several drunken Wizards took a joyride on some old Cleansweeps through the Lake District, and helping to plan his father’s retirement party later that month. Thus, he had been relegated to whatever was on offer in the canteen. 

The lunch rush was in full swing. In an effort to minimize his contact with the masses, Percy weaved his way to the aptly named ‘Grab-and-Go’ section where he snagged a bottle of his favourite sparkling water and reached for the last Caesar salad just as it was picked up by lightly tanned hands.

A chuckle sprung forth from the salad thief that warmed Percy down to his toes. He glanced up into familiar eyes.

“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Oliver grinned before pushing the boxed salad into Percy’s hands and grabbing another salad at random for himself. Before Percy could object, Oliver paid the witch running the till and motioned for him to follow. When they had been in school, Percy was never able to deny Oliver anything; now wasn’t any different. 

The man led him to the only available table and immediately began crunching away on his salad. Percy barely contained his fond eye roll. Oliver had never had the best table manners, scarfing down his food as though someone would come by and snatch it away. In contrast, Percy delicately laid out his utensils and placed his cup of dressing to the side so he could dip each bite into the creamy goodness, coating it evenly. 

Feeling Oliver’s eyes on him, Percy hid his anxiety behind a sip of water. It had been over a month since they had run into each other at the coffee shop, but it had been just a few hours since he had thought of the man. Every morning—even the ones where he was incredibly early—he looked for Oliver in the coffee shop, the lifts, the halls. In the afternoons he looked for him by the public floos and Apparition points but was never able to catch sight of the tall brunet.

Percy knew that during their last encounter he had been a bit of a coward. Unsure of the growing feelings of warmth in his chest and afraid to be let down again. Unable to ask the questions that bubbled underneath the surface. 

He wanted to be bold. He wanted to talk with Oliver again. Even if it was just to revive the friendship that had fallen to the wayside so many years ago. But would it be worth it? After all, Percy knew that he was no longer the person he had been at Hogwarts. Hell, he wasn’t even the same person he had been after the war. Things in his life had shifted so dramatically. Certainly, they had shifted for Oliver as well. This was the perfect time for them to begin again. To reopen communication and possibly find a place akin to where they had once been. 

Unfortunately, sitting across from the man who had once been his best friend felt slightly stilted. Awkward. There were things they would need to discuss. Heavy things. Vulnerable things. Things one couldn’t say over mediocre salads in the Ministry canteen. 

“I still have no idea how you drink that stuff,” Oliver laughed, gesturing at Percy’s bottle of water.

The sparkling water. 

It had started as a way to make himself feel slightly superior. Classier than the plebeians who preferred their water ultra-filtered and still. However, over the years, Percy had acquired a preference for the sparkling drink. He loved how the little bubbles fizzed and popped in his mouth. It was refreshing. Almost like those Muggle soft drinks, but without all the sugar and additional calories. He felt as though he was giving himself a bit of a treat. Something that was just for him. Something that had been sorely lacking as a child. But Oliver already knew this. This conversation—more like ribbing—had been rehashed many times throughout the years.

“It aids in digestion,” Percy quipped as he delicately took a bite of his salad. Although still stilted, it felt as though they were moving in the direction of becoming friends again.

“Don’t lie. You’re just trying to improve your swallowing game.”

Percy nearly inhaled a rough piece of lettuce, having to take a swig of said water to help wash it down. He could feel the embarrassed flush spread from the tips of his ears down to his chest, skin nearly as flaming as his hair. He shot a glare across the table at Oliver’s self-satisfied smirk. The man had become immune to his glares somewhere around third year. 

Giving it up as a bad job, Percy rolled his eyes and threw a crouton across the table, which Oliver deftly blocked with a flick of his fork. Magnanimously, Oliver changed the subject. “So, how are things going over in Transportation?”

Smiling softly, Percy launched into a condensed version of the mass splinching that had occurred the previous week.  _ The Prophet _ had been all over the story, however, most of the details had not been released to the public. A group of wixen had attempted to apparate after having about twelve too many drinks at a Weird Sisters concert. The poor sods hadn’t gotten very far thanks to the venue’s wards. However, most ended up stuck in the walls having left various pieces of themselves behind. One unlucky wizard had splinched his bollocks off. Thankfully, it was nothing that St Mungo’s hadn’t seen before.

Percy knew that he wasn’t the best storyteller. He knew that for the most part, his job was rather dull and that people generally had no interest in the department unless it directly impacted them. However, Oliver seemed to be genuinely interested, not just in the story, but in Percy’s description of all the extra work the incident had caused. Oliver asked the right questions. He nodded in the right places. He appeared to be invested in the conversation, not just placating Percy’s tale. 

Percy had forgotten what it was like for someone outside of his department to actually care about what he had to say. Sure, his family tried, but things were still strained with his parents. With them, he did his best to ask after their interests. Talk about the things that they enjoyed. With his siblings, it was much the same. At least with George, he didn’t have to talk. They worked well together, mostly in companionable silence. And Bill was always up for a good intellectual debate whenever he wasn’t busy with his own growing family. 

That warm feeling in his chest was back. A flame that was steadily growing stronger. At that moment, he knew that he could have this friendship back. It wouldn’t be the same as it had been when they were children. But maybe it would become something better now that they both had time to grow into themselves. 

The feelings that had begun to grow for Oliver in their seventh year and then been shoved into its own compartment deep within the recesses of his mind had slowly made its way into the forefront of Percy’s consciousness. Maybe it had never been as securely tucked away as he had led himself to believe. It would rattle with every Quidditch game he had listened to over the wireless, with every news article regarding the team, with every photo for the charity calendar that he had shamefully tucked into his bedside drawer. The compartment finally demanded his full attention after he ran into the man getting coffee the previous month. Percy had yet to allow himself to examine its contents more closely. It was much too soon to allow himself that luxury. 

Just because they were both queer and finally out didn’t mean that they automatically fancied each other. Besides, Percy was never one to rush things without considering every angle. He wouldn’t give in to fantasy. Not when the object of his desire worked in such close proximity. Not when there was a chance at rekindling the friendship. The potential for friendship meant so much more to him than the slim chance that his schoolboy crush would be requited. But maybe, reaching out and deepening the once again blooming friendship might satiate him. 

Percy looked across the table at the ever-smiling face, an invitation for another lunch on the tip of his tongue when a red paper aeroplane sped into the canteen and crashed forcefully into Percy’s nose. Squawking in indignation at the urgent memo, Percy deftly unfolded it and skimmed the contents. 

“Shit,” he murmured and vanished the memo along with the remnants of his lunch. At Oliver’s concerned look, he threw him a weak smile as he stood, straightening his robes. “Issue with a broom maker. You only fly European brooms, right?”

Oliver hesitated for a moment, something flashing in his eyes before he nodded. Percy didn’t have time to analyze the look, he was needed on an urgent floo call.

“Good,” he muttered. “Sorry, I have to—”

The smile was back on Oliver’s face almost instantly and he waved him off.

Fuck that American broom maker T. Drump and his questionably sourced broom wood. It would be a cold day in hell before Percy ever allowed those death traps to be sold on British soil.


	3. Tuesday, 6 July 2004

The scratching of Percy’s quill against the stack of parchment in front of him was soothing in a way that few things had been within the last few weeks. True, he was stuck in a conference room with five other wixen. Houlihan from International Cooperation was droning on about the Americans and the potential for a new trade deal if all went well. Of course he wanted everything to go smoothly, but Percy could care less about new trade deals. They would have absolutely no impact on his department. 

He allowed his mind to drift a bit, to allow the sounds of his quill and Houlihan’s monotonous voice meld into a sort of white noise. He had been so busy, bogged down with work and family responsibilities that he had very little time to allow his mind to rest. Allowing himself a few blissful moments now, as his quill automatically made notes of the meeting going on around him—it was a Quick-Quotes, but no one in the room needed to know that. Just as he had learned to do in therapy, Percy breathed deeply and began letting go of things one by one.

So much had happened in such a short amount of time. Ron and Hermione had gotten married, Fleur gave birth to Dominique, and Ginny had suffered a career-ending injury. He had made sure that he was there for everything. 

Even six years out from the war, Percy still felt as though a barrier separated him from the rest of the family. No matter how many hours he spent with Bill working to add another bedroom to Shell Cottage, no matter how many meals and puddings he made with his mother, no matter how many hours he spent watching his nieces and nephews, and researching the best magi-physiotherapists for Ginny he still felt like an outsider. 

They loved him, of course. They included him in conversations and didn’t go out of their way to exclude him, but there was still a gap. Something he feared that he would never be able to fill. But for now, in the slight meditative state he had allowed himself to slip into, he let every single one of his fears and worries go. He was working hard for his family and for himself. He was doing his best, and that was more than enough. 

The jostling of papers and chairs brought Percy out of his trance. 

“Sorry we’re late,” Oliver mumbled around a bite of pastry he’d snagged off the tea cart as he flopped down into the chair next to Percy. The man had decided to use one of Percy’s spare pieces of parchment as a coaster for a horribly battered-looking Muggle travel mug. Percy would have scowled if Oliver hadn’t slipped him the last ginger biscuit under the table. It was something he had done back in school. Oliver would show up to the common room late after Quidditch practice, slyly hand Percy a few ginger biscuits that he had pilfered from the kitchens, and bent his head close, asking for help on his homework assignments.

Percy felt a warmth spread throughout him as he accepted the biscuit. Glancing over, he caught Oliver’s eyes which glinted with a bit of mischief and nodded in thanks before performing a quick Geminio duplicating the notes he had made so far and passed them over. 

Houlihan was still going on about the importance of making a good impression on the Americans, but Percy couldn’t care less. It was just an “international” Quadpot tournament. The only teams involved were America, the UK, and Greenland. The event wouldn’t even take up an eighth of the resources that had been needed for the Quidditch World Cup ten years ago. This had all been International Cooperation's idea in the first place. They were still desperately trying to show the world that the UK had fully recovered after the war. 

His department had already arranged the international portkeys to and from the game site along with securing lodging for all teams. There wasn’t much else for Transport to do, however, Cooperation insisted on having biweekly meetings—that should have been memos—even though they still had several months to go leading up to the event.

The only thing that kept Percy from going mental in these meetings was Oliver’s presence. Oliver had come a long way since school. He was attentive during these meetings, taking notes and asking the right questions. Maybe it was just because he enjoyed the subject matter much more than Transfiguration or Potions, but he seemed very engaged. Percy found the man’s focus intoxicating. It was similar to what he would see on the pitch. He wondered what it would be like to be the centre of that focus.

He had it. Once. If only for a brief moment. It had been dark and they had been drinking. The seventh year Gryffindors were having a rager in the common room, celebrating the end of their time at Hogwarts. Percy had stumbled back up to the dorm for a moment away from the noise. He didn’t usually drink, but it was his final night as a student and he and Penelope had called it quits. Not that he was upset about it or anything. It was a logical end to the relationship. She was going off to Bulgaria to study Ancient Runes and he was headed for the Ministry. Neither was interested in doing a long-distance relationship. And if he were totally honest with himself, the spark had long since fizzled out. His focus, when it was not on his studies, had been elsewhere, on a more masculine figure. 

Oliver found him a few minutes later with the goal of dragging him back to the party. To this day, Percy could not remember how it happened, but suddenly they were pressed together. Wind chapped lips, calloused hands, murmurs of ‘Yes, Merlin!’, and ‘Finally’, Oliver’s warm firm body pressed against his lean one. And then… 

No. He couldn’t allow himself to think of that night. Not here. Not in a work meeting while sitting next to the man himself. No. Such thoughts were best left for the privacy of his bedroom where he could remember. 

Percy shoved those thoughts back into the box in his mind labelled ‘Oliver’. The box looked just like the real one he kept in the back of his closet. Simple, made of plain cardboard, no larger than a pair of shoes. But inside, it held multitudes. Every memento from their time together at school. Every tangible memory he had, neatly filed in chronological order, ending with a well-read letter dated 6 May 1998. A letter which had gone unanswered. And for now, that would have to do. He was at work. They were working together—only on this project, but it was still inappropriate. But maybe if they started slow, just attempted to renew the friendship, maybe then… 

A quick glance in Oliver’s direction sent a bolt of desire straight to his groin. Oliver was absently running the tip of his quill over his lips. A moment later, Oliver caught his eyes giving him a small smirk. Percy felt rooted to the spot. He would have sat there staring at Oliver’s mouth for hours had his boss not jostled him while standing up to review the Department of Transportation’s progress. Forcing himself to return his focus to the present, Percy promised himself that at the end of the meeting, he would pull Oliver aside and ask if he could buy him a drink.

And he would have if Oliver and the rest of Games and Sports hadn’t been pulled out of the meeting to deal with some Quidditch scandal. Apparently, a member of the Appleby Arrows had been deflating the Quaffles a bit to make them fly further when thrown. What a jerk.


	4. Saturday, 16 October 2004

Percy really didn’t want to be there. It was loud. It was crowded and he was surrounded by drunks. However, Games and Sports had insisted that everyone involved in setting up the Quadpot tournament come down to the pub. 

The games had gone off without a hitch. The Americans had won, which was no surprise to anyone there. And although he would never admit this out loud, he found the game almost as enjoyable to watch as Quidditch. 

It had been a long few months, but the job was finally done. On Monday, Percy would be able to go back to writing legislation on floo maintenance and preparing for the International Transportation summit at the end of the month. The Belgian ministry had an interesting new theory on long-distance apparition and he was looking forward to getting his hands on K. E. Bowers’ paper. But for now, he was stuck in a musty old pub outside of Wrexham to ‘celebrate a job well done’. Honestly, an interdepartmental memo noting the success and a bonus would have been preferable. At least it was on the Ministry’s dime.

Percy sighed and extricated himself from the crowded corner booth and made his way over to the bar for another gin and tonic. Unfortunately, the bar was just as crowded. The Hogwarts Quidditch game was being played over the wireless. Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw. Percy no longer had any siblings at Hogwarts, but if the teams were still anything like they had been when he was in school, he suspected that it would be a rather tame game. 

Oliver had dragged him to every single game all seven years they were in school. Although both teams always played to win, neither were as determined and sneaky as Slytherins or daring and reckless as Gryffindors. Unless either team had taken on new players who were determined to one day go pro, the game wouldn’t be anything other than standard play. 

Glancing at his pocket watch, Percy mentally ticked down the minutes until he could reasonably slip out of the pub without need for an excuse. Just half an hour more. Nothing too horrible. He would nurse his drink, and feign interest in the Hogwarts game At least that way he wouldn’t be forced into conversation with anyone. 

“Who’s playin’ tonight?” came Oliver’s lilting voice. 

Percy nearly jumped as he felt Oliver’s arm brush against his as the man leaned against the bar drinking from his pint. 

“Ravenpuff,” he replied. “Game just started.”

Oliver hummed. “The Wasps are looking at Abbot for next year.”

Percy scoffed. “Abbot’s already dropped the Quaffle twice and we’re not even five minutes in.”

“I never said it was a good choice,” he chuckled, taking another swig of his beer. 

Percy’s eyes caught on the way Oliver’s tongue darted out to catch an escaping amber droplet. He really wasn’t a fan of beer, but the desire to lick the taste out of Oliver’s mouth was overwhelming. He wanted to reach out and savour those beer kissed lips, to find out if they were just as wind-chapped as they had been so many years ago.

A cry went up from a few patrons on the far side of the bar, breaking him from his trance. A foul had just been called on Hufflepuff. He sighed, picking up his glass just to have something to do with his hands and found it empty. That was probably a sign to call it a night, but Oliver was standing so close. Their arms almost pressed together, and maybe now was as good a time as any to start up a conversation. One that didn’t revolve around Quidditch or work. But what would he say? Did they even have anything in common anymore or were they just two ships in the night, once at port together but now sailing apart in the open water? 

“How’s Ginny doing?” Oliver asked. 

Percy smiled. Oliver could always get him talking about family. “She’s a lot better. We were all at the Burrow last weekend and she was back on a broom. They’re trying to teach Albus to fly.”

“How old’s he now?”

“Two, and he absolutely hates it. I can’t tell you how many times I found him hiding out under the kitchen table.”

“You weren’t out there with them?”

Percy shook his head. “They’ve more than enough people to play. I usually help Mum with the little ones. If they don’t want to watch or are too young we have storytime with Uncle Percy.”

Oliver grinned, his eyes shining. “That sounds about right. You’re a good flier though, and a pretty decent Chaser, but it was clear that playing was never your favourite.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I never minded it with you.”

The way Oliver was looking at him pulled him back to the night of graduation. Eyes slightly glassy and smiles too wide. When touches were taboo and had previously only been given under the guise of friendship, but had definitely lasted longer than they should. Their eyes weren’t unfocused tonight, and their smiles were tentative and unsure, but the fire behind Oliver’s gaze remained the same. 

Oliver was the first to blush and look away, but he scooted closer and nudged Percy with his shoulder. “Look, Perce, I don’t know if you ever read my letter, but about that night—”

“I read it,” he almost whispered. 

Drawing up the memory in his mind, Percy tried to push away the painful memories of that horrible day. Of being numb, completely wrung out, unable to shed any more tears as they lowered his younger brother into the ground. The funeral had been well attended—they all were in those days. People would leave one funeral and apparate to the next. It seemed like a never-ending cycle of grief. 

But on the second-worst day of his life, after the memories were spoken around the gravesite, Oliver pushed his way through the throng of people and shoved a letter into Percy’s hands before pulling him close in an embrace. And just like that, he was gone. Later that night, Percy sat on his childhood bed and opened the letter as if on autopilot. He had read it many times since, having to cast a preservation charm on the paper to keep it from tearing.

“I’m sorry that I never responded,” he continued. “After Fred… I wasn’t in a good place. And then when I was…”

“No, it’s fine,” Oliver cut him off. “I knew that it probably wasn’t the best time, but I just… needed you to know.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck the way he always did when he was nervous. 

Now was the time to tell him. Now was the time to reach out, to grab Oliver’s hand, and ask if they could try again. All he had to do was take the first step and stop being such a bloody coward. It was his life. He had paid his penance for everything he did and didn’t do in the lead up to the war. It was time for him to think about his own happiness again.

Just as he was about to open his mouth, Houlihan sauntered over and planted himself between them. Oliver smiled at the man tightly and rolled his eyes at Percy, causing him to snicker. The man was notorious for being unable to hold his liquor. But he was what was known as a ‘fun drunk’ so most people at the Ministry turned a blind eye. Houlihan waved his hand around for the bartender, begging for another only to turn his head and vomit all over Oliver.

The sick was gone with the wave of a wand, but the positively green pallor that took over Oliver was there for the long haul. Oliver had never been good with that kind of thing. Percy passed him the rest of his beer and made him drink. “I’ve got him,” he reassured. “Go home, take an antacid, and clean up. You’ll feel better.” 

Oliver didn’t have to be told twice. With a pop of Apparition, the man was gone and Percy was left to take care of Houlihan, yet again wondering how he had let his opportunity to say something pass him by.


	5. Saturday, 6 November 2004

Almost a month had gone by and Percy hadn’t had a chance to speak to Oliver again. Oliver had been sent to China the next day to help out with the setup of the upcoming year’s Quidditch World Cup. As one of the most recognized faces in international Quidditch, Oliver had spent every year since graduation from Hogwarts helping with the World Cup in some way or another. 

Things were busy for Percy too. Preparations for the conference in Belgium took up most of his time and then he was gone for the week of the actual event. It had been good to get out of the country and meet other wixen in his field. He came back with a renewed vigour for his job and ready to tackle some issues they had left on the back burner for far too long.

Percy thought about sending Oliver an owl, but he knew that the man was busy and letters sent that far by owl tended to take forever to arrive. He knew that the Muggles had made great strides with mobile phones. His dad even had one. But even if he did own one, he didn’t have Oliver’s number. 

Nevertheless, Percy found himself penning letter after letter to Oliver and leaving them in the box he kept in the closet. 

_ Dear Oliver, _

~~_ I hope all is going well in China. _ ~~ _ How is Beijing treating you? Things have been rather hectic here. Ron and Hermione just announced that they’re going to be parents again. Mum’s over the moon and has her fingers crossed for another granddaughter. However, Ron mentioned that the early charms say it’s a boy.  _

_ Whenever you get back, I was hoping we could meet up  _ ~~_for a chat_ _and talk_~~ _. I’d like to pick your brain on something. While at the International Conference for Magical Transportation, I sat in on an interesting lecture about a modified form of Portkey travel. I won’t go into detail here, but suffice it to say that the device used would have similar properties to a Snitch. While aided by magic, the new Portkey would move in and out of space in a similar fashion. So far the prototypes have only been tasked to transport goods and it will remain that way for quite some time. However, I thought that if we could get an in-depth understanding of how Snitches work, we may be able to advance the research.  _

_ About what we were discussing at the pub… Again, I’m sorry that I never responded to your letter. I wanted to, but I just wasn’t in the right headspace to write back or do much of anything, and by the time I felt better so much time had passed.  _

~~_ I was sure that you wouldn’t want to hear from me. You had moved on and I had no right to pop up in your life after so much time. I promise, what happened that night in our dorm was not unwanted. I’m sure you know by now, but Penny and I had ended things. I cared for her, but love or anything resembling that emotion was never there.  _ ~~

~~_ Oliver, I felt more in that one kiss with you than I have ever felt with anyone else combined. Not that there have been many people. In my mind, it’s you. It’s always been you. It’s you who I think about. Still. There have been so many times since we reconnected in April that I have wanted to say something. To reach out and touch your hand. To find reasons to spend time with you. To ask you to spend time with me.  _ ~~

~~_ I miss our time together, Oliver. So much of me wants to run back to our Hogwarts days, to sit under the Quidditch stands and just talk about everything and nothing. Not have to worry about family or work or classes or anything else. But if I were to go back to that, I would also be going back to before you kissed me, and I don’t think that I can live in a world where I’m ignorant to the feeling of your lips on mine. I wish that I owned a Penseve so I could bottle that memory and watch it over and over again.  _ ~~

~~_ Oliver, I want to hold you in my arms again. I want to kiss you again. But most of all, I just want to be near you again, even if it is just in friendship. I realize that the years have changed us both and that you may not want what I want, but I can’t continue to allow life to just pass me by. I need to find my Gryffindor courage and say something. Because who knows, maybe you feel the same way too. _ ~~

~~_ Love, Looking forward to seeing you soon, _ ~~ _ Fond regards, _

_ Percy _ __

They were all so similar, more words crossed out than those that remained untouched on the page. He could never send them. He cared about Oliver. He wanted Oliver. But his bravery only went so far. 

If he were going to send a letter to Oliver, it had to be perfect. Every time he tried, his brain would never produce the right words. He had always been so much better on paper than he had been at verbalizing thoughts and emotions. However, now, the written word failed him. Draft after draft that all basically said the same thing went into his box. All in envelopes, all addressed to Oliver, just waiting to be given to an owl for delivery. 

He couldn’t make himself throw any of them away. For some reason, he was incapable of getting rid of anything that was related to Oliver. It comforted him in a way, to keep them all in their box. It was tangible proof that his emotions were real, that he cared about something other than himself and work. Proof that he was more than just Percy the Prat. He knew that words would continue to fail him in this regard, but he needed to do something other than just hide it all away. He needed to say something, to do something or he would go mad. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you had trouble reading the crossed-out portions of the letter, here is the full thing:
> 
> Dear Oliver,
> 
> I hope all is going well in China. How is Beijing treating you? Things have been rather hectic here. Ron and Hermione just announced that they’re going to be parents again. Mum’s over the moon and has her fingers crossed for another granddaughter. However, Ron mentioned that the early charms say it’s a boy. 
> 
> Whenever you get back, I was hoping we could meet up for a chat and talk. I’d like to pick your brain on something. While at the International Conference for Magical Transportation, I sat in on an interesting lecture about a modified form of Portkey travel. I won’t go into detail here, but suffice it to say that the device used would have similar properties to a Snitch. While aided by magic, the new Portkey would move in and out of space in a similar fashion. So far the prototypes have only been tasked to transport goods and it will remain that way for quite some time. However, I thought that if we could get an in-depth understanding of how Snitches work, we may be able to advance the research. 
> 
> About what we were discussing at the pub… Again, I’m sorry that I never responded to your letter. I wanted to, but I just wasn’t in the right headspace to write back or do much of anything, and by the time I felt better so much time had passed. 
> 
> I was sure that you wouldn’t want to hear from me. You had moved on and I had no right to pop up in your life after so much time. I promise, what happened that night in our dorm was not unwanted. I’m sure you know by now, but Penny and I had ended things. I cared for her, but love or anything resembling that emotion was never there. 
> 
> Oliver, I felt more in that one kiss with you than I have ever felt with anyone else combined. Not that there have been many people. In my mind, it’s you. It’s always been you. It’s you who I think about. Still. There have been so many times since we reconnected in April that I have wanted to say something. To reach out and touch your hand. To find reasons to spend time with you. To ask you to spend time with me. 
> 
> I miss our time together, Oliver. So much of me wants to run back to our Hogwarts days, to sit under the Quidditch stands and just talk about everything and nothing. Not have to worry about family or work or classes or anything else. But if I were to go back to that, I would also be going back to before you kissed me, and I don’t think that I can live in a world where I’m ignorant to the feeling of your lips on mine. I wish that I owned a Penseve so I could bottle that memory and watch it over and over again. 
> 
> Oliver, I want to hold you in my arms again. I want to kiss you again. But most of all, I just want to be near you again, even if it is just in friendship. I realize that the years have changed us both and that you may not want what I want, but I can’t continue to allow life to just pass me by. I need to find my Gryffindor courage and say something. Because who knows, maybe you feel the same way too.
> 
> Love, Looking forward to seeing you soon, Fond regards,
> 
> Percy 


	6. Monday 6 December 2004

Christmas was fast approaching. It had never been Percy’s favourite holiday, especially in recent years, but with how well things had gone at George’s birthday celebration, he thought that maybe this year would be a little brighter. 

He had promised his parents that he would take off work between Christmas Eve and the New Year. However, to do so, he was working overtime, trying to make sure that everything was caught up. He’d arrive at six each morning and work through lunch, only leaving the office after eight when the lights automatically switched off. Percy didn’t mind so much. He liked the work and it kept him adequately distracted from thoughts of a certain brunet who had still not returned from China. He had steadfastly not checked the Portkey arrivals log in the last month and threw himself into any activity other than drafting the man letters that would never be sent. 

He was mostly caught up though and dreadfully hungry. The tea and biscuits his assistant had brought him earlier that day had been the only thing he had eaten since that morning. Glancing at his pocket watch, he realized that it was only a few minutes after six. The coffee shop stayed open until half-past the hour. If he hurried, he could get something to drink and scour the remaining foodstuffs on offer. A cafe sandwich sounded infinitely better than the tinned soup he had at home. 

Exiting his office, Percy rounded the corner to make his way to the lifts when he collided with a man. Percy huffed and was about to rebuke the person for not watching where they were going when a strong hand gripped his shoulder and he was met with those piercing espresso eyes.

“Oliver,” he murmured in surprise. “I didn’t realize you had returned.”

There was that grin again, warm and inviting and doing just awful things to his insides.

“Just got back. Thought I might run into you.”

“You quite literally did,” Percy smirked. 

Oliver huffed a laugh, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the ground. “Sorry about that. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re still working.”

He couldn’t keep his eyes off the man. Dark hair a little longer and curling around his ears, the beginnings of circles under his eyes betraying the satisfying exhaustion of hard work, and hands a bit twitchy—a nervous tick Oliver had picked up whenever he had to travel by anything other than a broom. It was like his body knew that there should have been a broom handle between his hands and was crying out in frustration for the missing object. This quirk would last for several hours after the trip unless he was ‘reset’ with a warm drink and some good food. Percy knew this man, knew him down to his odd ticks and knew what was needed to bring Oliver back to himself. And oh, how he wanted to. He wanted to be the one to soothe Oliver’s travel-weary soul. To provide him with comfort and a chance to relax.

“I’m about to knock off actually.” Before he even had a chance to muster up the courage, the words spilt from Persy’s mouth, “Oliver, can I buy you dinner?”

The smile that grew across Oliver’s face warmed him from the inside out. He found himself lost in the man’s gaze, completely entranced. And  _ Merlin _ , when had Oliver gotten so close? The breath caught in his throat as large calloused hands entwined with his own, pulling him ever closer.

Chapped lips hovered just millimetres away from his own. “Percy,” the man groaned, “I thought you’d never ask.”


End file.
